


Screw Gravity, I've Fallen in Love

by SierraNovembr



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, IronFalcon - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Riley (Captain America movies) - Freeform, Things don't go according to the plan, Tony's got a plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SierraNovembr/pseuds/SierraNovembr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony tries, even though he’s got this great chasm of selfish need inside of him that’s fed every time this remarkable man smiles or throws him a wink while they’re fighting for their lives or gives up his own pleasure to help a friend in need. Every time Sam takes on three guys and comes out without a scratch, every time he lets Tony have the last word in an argument, or kisses his nose, Tony burns with want for him.  He wanted today to be for Sam, and he just can’t take it anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screw Gravity, I've Fallen in Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syriala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syriala/gifts).



Sam isn’t there when Tony stumbles up from the workshop that evening, which is disappointing. Then Tony remembers that Steve was taking Sam out for a drink, and it’s still disappointing, because they have only been together for a few weeks and Tony wants to monopolize his incredibly hot boyfriend, but he recognizes this as a selfish instinct and goes to microwave some leftovers. He tries to catch up on some news sites on the tablet as he eats standing at the kitchen counter, but gives in to his exhaustion as soon as his hunger is sated. He manages to leave a note on the counter for Sam ( _Wake me up when you get in? xo_ ) and collapses into bed.

He wakes up alone at 2am to the sound of breaking glass and cursing. 

“Friday?”

“Mr. Wilson is in your living room, boss. I suggest you put something on your feet.”

Tony does some muted cursing of his own as he digs his slippers out of the closest and then stumbles out to the bar in the living room to see Sam trying to pick up the pieces of a shot glass off the floor.

“Hey! Hey, Sam, let the cleaning crew get that.” Tony rushes over and tries to steer Sam into sitting in the nearby sofa. Sam makes a sad grabby motion at the bottle on the bar, so Tony picks it up and gets his boyfriend sitting down.

He takes a step back and looks Sam over. He’s wearing a nice set of dark jeans that are fitted but not too tight, and a light blue tee shirt. He’s got his lips pressed into a thin line like he’s trying too hard to keep them from wobbling. Tony feels a stab of worry when he realizes that Sam is shivering and pulls the afghan off the back of the couch to drape over Sam’s shoulders.

“Sorry, Tony,” he slurs. “I shouldn’t have…wasn’t gonna wake you up.”

“Yeah, because I always wanted to be the boyfriend who sleeps peacefully through you drinking yourself stupid and probably slicing your hands up,” Tony says with an eyeroll. “What’s wrong, muffin?”

Sam curls up into a little ball on the couch and eyes the spot next to him meaningfully. “Who said there was something wrong?”

Tony slides on to the couch and wags the bottle in Sam’s face a little. It’s tequila, and Tony’s pretty sure it’s not what Sam needs at the moment, but he’s not exactly one to be throwing stones from his glass skyscraper. Sam takes it from his hands and downs a quick pull, making a face at the burn in his throat.

“Fucking tequila,” he says, “I hate this stuff, like a really rotten cactus pissed in my throat, but it was his favorite.”

“Whose?”

“Riley,” Sam chokes, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “He died. Today.”

Friday flashes the date and a picture of a younger Sam standing with a buff blonde man, both in their EXO-7 gear, over Sam’s shoulder and Tony memorizes it, with big flashing neon letters in his mental folder of important Sam dates. He shifts his gaze back to Sam and flounders for a minute. Sam doesn’t seem to notice, running his tongue along his teeth and grimacing before putting the bottle on the low side table.

Tony tries to think of something to say that isn’t _Damn it, Sam, what are you doing, why are you doing this without me?_ which is his selfish impulse again. He’s been quiet for too long; Sam looks over at him at last.

“Oh,” Tony says, because he is a little helpless in the face of Sam’s grieving. It isn’t his finest moment. He puts a hand on Sam’s arm, runs it up and down the muscles there. “Sam, I’m sorry.”

Sam shakes his head. “It’s been years. Been, fuck, a long time. Steve and I were talking, and I really felt fine when we got back but it was dark in my room and I knew I wouldn’t sleep because then I would see him falling again.”

“Sam,” Tony whispers, at a loss. Sam’s face is still barely contained emotion. Tony picks up Sam’s hands, presses kisses to his palms. “Come to bed.”

“I’ll just keep you up,” Sam says at once, and he’s not meeting Tony’s eyes, his focus zeroed in on his hands still in Tony’s, dark against Tony’s lighter skin. Tony bends forward and dips his head to catch Sam’s eyes.

“Sam,” he replies, his voice still soft, “don’t be an idiot.”

Sam’s face crumples and fresh tears slip down his cheeks, but his eyes are grateful. He picks up the tequila takes another pull from the bottle. Tony slowly takes it from him when he’s swallowed and takes a gulp himself, because solidarity.

He screws the cap on the bottle resolutely, and when he looks up again Sam is staring at him.

“You drink scotch,” he says.

“That’s true,” Tony admits, still whispering.

“I ordered scotch to start with, tonight. It smells like you.”

Tony’s not sure what to do with that confession, but he doesn’t have to come up with a response because Sam is kissing him. It’s harsh, Sam running his hands all over Tony’s chest and shoulders. Tony lets him attack his mouth, slowly leading him back to his bedroom as the assault continues, Sam’s hands finding every dip and contour under Tony’s pajamas along the way.

Tony lets him bring them both off with rough hands, breath quick and straining against his shoulder. The exertion and alcohol do their work and soon Sam is sleeping with his face mashed into Tony’s chest. Tony holds his boyfriend tightly, and tells himself to work harder for Sam, promises himself he’ll be a better boyfriend. If Sam’s crazy enough to keep him around that long, next year he’ll do better. He feels a plan forming in his mind, a perfect, respectful day to remember Riley and show Sam how grateful he is that Sam is here. Tony slips off to sleep with a slight smile. 

\--------------------

It’s too early, but Tony is already awake, running his plans for today through his head one more time, finishing with the mantra _Whatever Sam needs today_ , when his boyfriend of more than a year stirs in his arms. Tony’s ready. He’s had this date in his head, right under their anniversary, and after the disaster it was last year, he is determined to pamper and support the hell out of Sam today.

He scoots down their bed slightly and catches Sam’s sweet, sleep-warm lips in a slow kiss. He lazily strokes his tongue in Sam’s mouth as the other man comes awake. Tony keeps the kisses unhurried as he thinks back over the last year. 

They’ve been through a lot. The paparazzi storm when the media got wind of their relationship. The fire in the lab which Tony maintains was totally an accident and not his fault (neither of which is strictly true). The difficultly of synching of sleep schedules between a morning person and…not at all a morning person, both of whom have horrific nightmares thrown in the mix. Hospital visits. Stitches in each of them. Adrenaline-fueled sex against the wall after a victory. Structural damage to their home from another alien attack and rebuilding the floor together, more theirs than ever before. The month, the _worst month in Tony’s life_ (and have there ever been contenders for _that_ particular title), when Sam had been kidnapped for leverage against Tony Stark. His breath hitches at the memory of how thin Sam was when they finally got him back. Sam notices and guides Tony’s hand to his ribs, to his once again healthy, sexy, muscled torso. God, he loves this man. Loves being in synch with him.

“Tell me a good memory,” he whispers.

“Pepper’s wedding,” Sam slurs out, and goes back in for another kiss.

Tony lets himself remember dancing with Sam at Pepper’s wedding, feeling the joy bubbling in his chest, sweeter than any intoxication he’d ever known before. He pours that joy back into the kiss, caressing Sam’s lips until his skin is vibrating with pleasure. He’s starting to think ahead, craving the feeling of Sam pushing inside of him, when Friday interrupts, a note of reluctance in her voice.

“Boss, there’s a call for Mr. Wilson. It’s Mr. Barnes.”

Tony lets out a strangled sound of wordless frustration as Sam tells Friday to put it through. Bucky’s voice filters over the speakers and he sounds _awful_ , all choked up, sniffing between every other word.

“Sam? Did I wake your lazy ass up?”

“Of course not, asshole.”

Another sniff. “Think you can swing a coffee run?”

“I am a man of many talents, Barnes.”

Bucky’s voice is quieter when he replies, “Before Steve gets back? I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Yeah, man, I’ll be right down.”

Friday cuts the connection and Tony whines, a long, ugly, “Nooooooo. Today is pamper the shit out of Sam day. I’ve had my schedule cleared for months.”

“What? We’ve already had our anniversary, what are you talking about?” Sam, who is already untangling himself from Tony and the twisted sheets, glances over at his phone to check the date. Tony grumbles as Sam registers the date and gets a very soft look on his face. 

“Tony, babe, that’s…that’s so sweet. But Bucky needs me and you know that helping others helps me so, so much.”

Tony sighs quietly. _Whatever Sam needs today_. He pushes up from the bed to catch Sam in a hug. He’s already dressed, ugh, you can take the man out of the military…

“I’ll be back for lunch, okay, Tony?”

Tony nods and grabs another kiss before Sam’s out the door. Tony stares at his retreating back for a moment before deciding he definitely needs coffee of his own.

\--------------

They only get a few bites of the early picnic lunch Tony put together on the roof before the call to assemble comes through. Tony heaves all the sighs and spends the few minutes between suiting up and the start of Steve’s mission briefing having Friday move tomorrow’s SI meetings around in case Sam wants to go down to Arlington then since the rest of today’s plans clearly just got defenestrated. 

He’s frustrated and annoyed and missing Sam even though Sam is literally flying next to him and he is so ready to kick some ass. Until they get in range of the knot of chaos that is Lower Manhattan and Tony feels his throat close up in horror. Various curses pepper the team comms as the other Avengers realize what they’re up against.

Because Steve had said mind-controlled soldiers with conventional weapons, sure, but Tony hadn’t realized that meant US Army personnel with _RPGs_ and vacant, dead eyes. Which are also glowing purple. 

He opens a private channel to Natasha, “Nat, is Clint gonna be okay here?”

“I’ll stick with him for a bit,” she says, her tone collected as ever. “Is Falcon?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” he replies, and his voice is strained, too high to hide the fact that he’s terrified.

“Get your head in the game, Stark, right now. Sam needs you to.”

He swallows the ball of fear and clicks over to Steve’s line. He’s ready to beg their team leader to keep Sam in his sights. It’s too much to hope that he can stay with Sam himself, they’ll need their aerial support better distributed than that, but he trusts Steve to understand the nightmare Sam’s going to be living, today of all days. Shit, Tony couldn’t have come up with a more triggering scenario if he tried and he’s a goddamn genius. He doesn’t get a single word out before Steve is promising, “I’ve got him, Iron Man. Focus on finding the controller, you’ve got the best chance of figuring out the source and how to shut this the hell down.”

Tony hesitates for another moment, hovering over where Sam has landed and is already disarming a pair of soldiers before saying, “Understood, Cap.”

Tony relaxes into the flow of the fight after that, keeping his repulsors at a low enough power level to disable only. There’s a rhythm to dispersed combat like this, and he’s able to start putting the pattern together even as Friday keeps several scans going to try to determine if the mind control is tied to some sort of signal. And if a grenade detonates a little too close to him at one point – and by a little too close he means right in his face – and he careens a little too close to the side of a building – and by a little too close he means crashing through some lawyer’s nice corner office – well, no one is close enough to see it so Tony’s not making a fuss.

Then suddenly he has the location. It is in fact a broadcasting signal, coming from a nondescript three story building, guarded by a squad of the purple-eyed soldiers. He hasn’t yet figured out how the soldiers are susceptible, but the science, fascinating as it promises to be, will have to wait because he is finishing this fight. Now. “Fri, send the coordinates to the team.”

His AI gives a quick affirmative and Tony opens the team channel, “Got the source, Cap.”

“That’s good, Iron Man. Winter Soldier, Black Widow and Hawkeye maintain a perimeter, keep the outside combatants out of our hair. Everyone else, converge on Iron Man’s position. Tony, wait for us this time or you’re losing your next two movie night picks.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man, I am an exemplary team player and have every intention of waiting for backup,” Tony says as he starts picking off the snipers he’s able to spot, looping a few blocks around the source building.

There’s a flash of blue in the corner of his eye and he turns to watch Captain America running towards him, Falcon cruising just over his left shoulder. Cap’s jumping between rooftops, occasionally assisted over the longer stretches by Sam. Tony smiles at their easy synchronicity. 

They’re only two buildings away when a shot rings out and Cap stumbles, his momentum carrying him right over the edge of the roof. Falcon grabs at him, but can’t catch his hands.

“Ri – “ Sam starts to shout, but cuts himself off with a horrible broken sound as his fingers close around nothing. Tony feels terror wash through him. He’d rather put the arc reactor back in his chest with a rusty spoon than ever hear Sam make that noise again.

Cap crashes through a fire escape but manages to curl up onto his shield before hitting the ground with a thud and a hissed, “shit.”

Tony and Sam let out identical breaths of relief, but the moment is short lived. Nearly a dozen of the foot soldiers are converging on where Cap is struggling back to his feet. His thigh is bleeding slightly, but it’s clearly a graze, nothing serious to a supersoldier. 

Sam jumps into the fray, controlling his decent to land with both booted feet on a mind-controlled soldier’s chest. The man goes down and stays down. Tony’s flying towards them when Cap, voice strained, says, “Iron Man, get to the control building. Finish this.”

Tony hesitates, reluctant to leave the two of them, but then Thor is joining the melee below him and Vision is flanking him in the air, Scarlet Witch curled in his arms. Tony nods to the two of them and they follow as he zips back to their target building.

He flies directly in an open bay door in the back, and can’t hold back an incredulous, “Oh my god, really?”

Because their target is almost disgustingly obvious now. The man is nearly as big as the Hulk, with the pouch of a military man gone to seed, a bristling white mustache, and, oh, glowing purple all over.

Scarlet Witch is giggling, even as Vision curls in front of her to block the hail of bullets from the purple-eyed minions who have opened fire on the three Avengers. Tony rolls his eyes and gets with the crowd control, the mini-missiles firing to disarm and cripple. Vision gets Scarlet Witch close enough for her to put the whammy on Mr. Mustache, and just like that, they are all falling unconscious, glowing eyes closing.

Less than a minute, and the rest of the team is bursting through the door. Tony goes through the motions of securing the soldiers with Natasha and Bucky, vaguely registering that Cap’s sent Thor and Vision back out to make sure it’s all over. He can’t stop scanning Sam, watching the HUD track his elevated heartrate and breathing. Nothing concerning, considering they’d all just been fighting for their lives, but Tony can’t stop looking at the numbers and wondering how long it will take to bring them down.

Abruptly, Sam straightens and marches towards the door, throwing an, “I need a minute, okay, Steve?” over his shoulder. His voice is strained, words tripping over each other.

Steve shoots a look between Sam and Tony, who feels about ready to snap if he has to spend one more minute here, and nods. Sam jogs a bit and then is taking off. Tony activates the boot repulsors and flies out after him.

Sam is pushing his speed, Tony keeping pace slightly below his boyfriend. He watches Sam fly, and is overwhelmingly grateful that Sam’s completely fine. That he survived that mission years ago, that he survived them all to be here with Tony. Selfish, selfish Tony Stark, but he won’t ever apologize for being glad it wasn’t Sam.

“Fuck,” Sam says. He lands in an alley after less than a minute and closes his eyes, exhaling a tired “that _sucked_.”

His voice is aching, and Tony doesn’t know what to say, how to tell Sam that everyone is okay, that he loves Sam so much more than he ever thought a person could love another person. Broken, messed up Tony Stark is so gone for this man. He yanks his helmet off and pushes into the empty space between them, tries to push himself into all the aching spaces in Sam.

“It’s over,” Tony says, pushing Sam back against the building behind him, “god, everyone’s okay, Sam, shit.” He presses kisses up and down Sam’s throat and Sam tips his head back to give Tony better access. His breathing is still quick and desperate.

“Tony,” he says, his voice breaking against Tony’s dark hair, fluffy from lack of product and the helmet. Tony decides it doesn’t matter if he’s being selfish. Because he’s Tony fucking Stark, and he is going to fix this, regardless of what it takes.

Sam’s got his arms around Tony now, his fingertips squeak against the smooth metal of the armor as he tries to grip Tony closer. And that’s just not going to work for Tony at all. Before he can really think about it, he’s stepping out of the armor entirely and sinking to his knees in the alley. There’s broken glass and other debris on the ground, slicing up through the under suit and sending pain sparking up his legs, but he couldn’t give a damn right now. He is going to make sure that Sam knows. He has to know that Tony wants to give Sam everything. Tony tries, even though he’s got this great chasm of selfish need inside of him that’s fed every time this remarkable man smiles or throws him a wink while they’re fighting for their lives or gives up his own pleasure to help a friend in need. Every time Sam takes on three guys and comes out without a scratch, every time he lets Tony have the last word in an argument, or kisses his nose, Tony burns with want for him. He wanted today to be for Sam, and he just can’t take it anymore.

“Tony,” Sam says, “what are you doing?”

Tony shakes his head and unzips Sam’s fly, reaching in to pull out his cock.

“Sam,” he whispers, “I don’t know how to do this, okay, but I have to. Today was for you and I was going to take care of you and so that’s what I’m going to do. I’m tired of waiting and I’m tired of the world shitting on you,” and he closes his mouth around him. Sam is barely hard, but he moans brokenly, hands coming down to mess up Tony’s hair further. Sam’s hips twitch forward, pressing him into Tony, and Tony pushes them back down and takes Sam as deep as he can.

“Fuuuuuck,” Sam moans, growing fully hard in Tony’s mouth, “oooh, fuck.”

Tony grips Sam’s hips and hums, dragging his mouth up the length of Sam’s cock, tonguing at the head. His knees are bleeding fairly freely, but Sam’s nails are scratching at his hair and even if he loses Sam tomorrow, Tony will never regret this.

“Tony,” Sam keens, jerking, pulling at Tony’s hair, “Tony, _Tooooony_.”

And the thing is, he could lose Sam tomorrow. Sam gives pieces of himself away to everyone, and they’ve both lost people in their lives. In this line of work, people get hurt, get killed. Of the two of them, Tony knows that Sam is the braver, really, he goes into battle with far less armor than Tony, but flies just as high. Here they are, surrounded by the smell of smoke and death and willing to love each other anyway, and Tony was going to support Sam today and instead this is all he’s managed to do for Sam. A hellish battle and an alley blowjob, so really the very least he can do is pull Sam into his throat, work him over even as his jaw starts to ache. The least he can do is hold on until Sam is coming at last, jerking in Tony’s mouth. Tony holds on while Sam shudders and gasps Tony’s name again and again.

They are both still for a moment before Sam is hauling him up to kiss him roughly. Tony kisses back, reaching down to tuck his boyfriend back into his combat pants. Sam growls and bites at Tony’s lips, reaching down to grab Tony’s leg and pull it up over his hip. Tony hisses when Sam’s hand scrapes against the cuts on his knee, still bleeding down his pants.

“Oh my god, your knees – you’re bleeding!” Sam hisses at him, pushing Tony back and crouching to get a better look at the wound. “Why did you keep going like this, Tony? Are you insane?”

It’s Tony’s turn to pull Sam to his feet. His legs are actually starting to shake, and the adrenaline crash is making him dizzy, so he kisses Sam to shut him up and distract them both. Sam moans into his mouth and pulls him in too tight, grabbing at Tony’s ass, but that’s when Tony’s legs buckle and Sam curses again. He shoves Tony back into the armor, muttering under his breath. The familiar metal closes around him, and he begins to really register the pain in his knees and the ache of battle in various muscles. He maybe hadn’t thought this all the way through, but it was worth it and he’d fucking do it again. Sam nudges him until he takes off, and they fly in silence back to Avengers Tower, but there’s a soft look in Sam’s eyes when he looks back over his shoulder at Tony.

“You are the stupidest fucking genius I’ve ever met,” Sam mutters once they’re back in the penthouse, shuffling Tony into the bathroom and digging under the sink for the first aid kit. “You couldn’t have waited until we weren’t in the middle of a fucking battlefield?”

“It was urgent,” Tony says, shrugging. 

Sam glares at him, but his hands are gentle as he helps Tony out of the under suit. Tony catches Sam’s face between his hands, waits until he has his boyfriend’s attention and says, “All day, Sam. I’ve been trying to take care of you _all day_ and I am not generally, or really ever, a patient person.”

Sam’s face is torn between anger and something softer as he keeps his eyes on Tony, it’s beautiful. He’s still growly when he says, “I don’t like you getting hurt.”

“Sam, come on, it’s really nothing. Slap a band aid on it and let’s get out of the damn bathroom.”

“You’re still insane, Tony. I want that officially registered.”

Tony nods solemnly, and then cracks a lopsided grin that clearly asks Sam what he’s going to do about it. Sam laughs, small and helpless, but the hard line of his shoulders softens and his hands are gentle as he cleans and bandages Tony’s knees.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“It was necessary, Sam. And I am all about taking the necessary actions for the good of mankind. I’m a superhero, remember?”

They sit in silence for a minute while Sam packs up the remaining supplies. Tony watches him, and just barely brings himself to ask, “Are you complaining?”

“YES. I don’t want you getting hurt just for a blowjob.”

“Wow, do you have messed up priorities. Sam, I’ve done way worse to myself for far less important results.”

“Not. Helping.”

“Lies. I am the helpfulest.”

Sam doesn’t answer him, but he’s smiling faintly as he washes himself up and leads a drooping Tony out into the bedroom. Where they abruptly stop.

Tony peels his eyes open – when did he shut them? – and sees the bottle of tequila and two glasses on the table, Fight Club queued up on the wall across from the bed. The drinks he’d remembered from last year, the movie (Riley’s favorite) he’d gotten out of Steve. He’d completely forgotten the last part of his little ‘pamper Sam and remember Riley’ day. Was this still okay after the fight this afternoon? 

Just as Tony gets a nice little internal panic going over salting his boyfriend’s wounds, Sam pulls him into a tight hug and sighs into his shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s do this thing. Thank you, Tony.” He runs his hands down Tony’s arms to tangle their fingers together and pulls on Tony’s hands until they are snuggled together on the bed. Tony is pressed completely into Sam’s side and feels content for the first time all day.

Sam smiles and presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. That smile dims as the movie plays, and Tony isn’t following it at all in favor of kissing any part of Sam he can reach, and this day is always going to be a little awful for Sam, but Tony’s got a promise to fulfill. Every year, as long as Sam will have him, he’s going to be right here.

Tony feels himself grinning despite everything as a new plan unfurls in his mind. Maybe next year they’ll be right here again, hurting in one way or another, but if he has anything to say about it, they’ll be here together.

In his head, Tony starts designing a ring.


End file.
